


don't let go yet

by lord_is_it_mine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_is_it_mine/pseuds/lord_is_it_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three days. Three days since the angels fell. Three days since Sam gave up the trials. Three days since Dean thought for sure that his world had ended- for good this time.</p><p>And then Cas shows up, claiming to be fine and looking anything but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't let go yet

**Author's Note:**

> set after the season eight finale. title from Don't Let Go Yet - David J. Roch.

_Whatever you do, you will always end up... here. No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up... here._

For some reason, that’s all Dean can think about.

Of all the dark twisted crap his mind could plague him with, it’s the words the devil once spoke to him from his own brother’s lips that have come to haunt him the most. The ominous threat that was more like a promise rings louder in his brain than anything ever has. And even if Lucifer is locked away in the cage- even if Sammy is alive (if only just barely) in the front seat next to him and not Satan’s prom dress- even if the world isn’t crawling with croats and even if Dean himself never became the shell of a man who lead the final resistance- even if 2014 never happened, the promise is still being kept. _The world must still be ending._

_He’s losing Sam._

_Heaven is empty._

_Cas isn’t an angel anymore._

It doesn’t even occur to Dean to hope. To hope that Sam will survive giving up the trials. To hope that there are any angels left. To hope that Cas made it out of this at all, let alone unscathed. Hope is beyond unnatural in a situation like this. For all he knows, Cas could be dead out there somewhere- anywhere in the world, Dean realises dully. And even if Cas _is_ alive, he’s probably human. And if he’s human, he’s lost. And if he’s lost, there’s not even a snowball’s chance that Dean will ever see him again.

_It’s like the time they found Cas reduced to a tooth in Chuck’s hair._

_The time after Van Nuys when they thought Cas was dead for two weeks._

_When the devil turned Cas into a red mist on the field of Armageddon._

_When Cas decided he had to go fix heaven and left Dean alone in the impala without even saying goodbye._

_Every morning at Lisa’s, looking over his shoulder in the mirror, half expecting the damn angel to be there, right in his personal space (and half-hoping he would be)._

_W_ _hen the soul of every single dead monster turned Cas into someone else entirely._

_When the Leviathans walked him into that river, leaving nothing but a dirty trench coat._

_When Dean found Emmanuel and realised the man didn’t remember a thing._

_When Cas took all Sam’s crazy and lost himself in the process._

_When he’d run away from Dean in Purgatory._

_When those months spent praying to no one stretched on forever._

_W_ _hen Cas let go of his hand at the end of it all and said “Go.”_       

It’s all the times Dean has lost Cas, every day he’s been without him, every thought he’s ever had about never seeing him again. All of this is hell on a deeper level. It’s like he’s re-experiencing every bruise, every wound, and every single broken bone he’s ever gotten from being thrown around all at the same time. The pain is digging under his skin and drilling spikes into the back of his head. It’s crushing and mangling him until there’s nothing left. The worst part is that at some point, Dean thinks he sees a glimmer of light- Cas has come back before right? He’s come back from much worse than just being human. But before Dean can get a good enough grip on that thought, it’s gone. Cas isn’t coming back, not this time. His luck has finally run out.

* * *

 

“I’m fine, Dean.”

It’s been three days. Three days since the angels fell. Three days since Sam gave up the trials. Three days since Dean thought for sure that his world had ended- for good this time.

Then Cas shows up, claiming to be fine and looking anything but.

It’s four-thirty in the morning, but Dean hasn’t noticed nor does he really care- he’s barely slept since the fall (as he’s silently dubbed it), doing nothing except for wandering aimlessly around the bunker, drinking incessantly (he’s almost to the bottom of his third bottle of whiskey) and constantly worrying about Sam. The younger Winchester passed out just after Dean dragged him home three days ago, and he hasn’t moved since (he really hasn’t- Dean has literally been checking on him every five minutes). The bunker is eerie as shit when it’s empty- Kevin split, claiming ‘business elsewhere’. The only other soul in the place is Crowley ( _if he counts as a soul_ , Dean thinks), locked away in the dungeon, the one area Dean has steered clear of during his random pacing. There’s something almost haunting about being alone, he muses to himself. In fact, it’s downright scary as hell, because when left alone with nothing but his grief and alcohol, he begins to worry about what he might do.

Then there’s a knock at the door. Dean doesn’t even register it as an actual noise at first; however, considering that he should probably be unconscious in a pool of his own vomit at this point, he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it. But when the repetitive echo proves to be something other than his admittedly hollow heart, Dean (albeit begrudgingly) elects to get off his ass and see who the hell is here of all places at now of all times. He guesses that it’s probably Kevin who probably forgot something; maybe, just maybe, it’s Charlie, come to find out why the fuck people have been falling from the sky.

He does not guess Cas. Because Cas is dead as far as his booze-addled brain is concerned. He climbs the stairs slowly, partly because he barely has the ability to stay on his feet, and partly because he’s being spiteful to the person that won’t stop making so much noise on the other side of that door. If Dean was even a bit sober, he most likely would have remembered that said person could be any number of dangerous creatures (do monsters knock?), and he should be armed if he wants to live to see his next hangover- but then again, maybe part of him doesn’t care.

“Yeah yeah calm your tits, I’m comin’ I’m comin’, Jesus.” Dean heaves the door open, ready to tear some poor bastard a new one and-

“Hello Dean.”

“Holy _shit_ .” It’s not a very poignant thing to say when you see that the person you secretly know (but have never admitted) you can’t live without comes back from the state of _oh my God I thought for sure you were dead this time_ \- but Dean is very shocked and very drunk.  And Cas is very alive and very real and very much standing right there trench coat and all and-

“ _Cas_.” The name falls from Dean’s mouth in a slur of what should be relief but what is more shock and even confusion laced with no small amount of concern. Because while Dean can feel something like happiness pulling on his heartstrings, there’s the undeniable question of how in the name of all things holy did Cas survive and more specifically how did he find his way here?

“You look like hell, man.” He really reminds Dean more of purgatory than hell, but hey, it’s hell-adjacent. That goddamn coat is still hanging on for dear life, the bottom of it covered in mud and a nice tear in the right sleeve. Cas’s shoes are filthy, his pant legs soaked (what, did he wade through a swamp?) and his hands are dinged up pretty badly too. His jaw is covered in scruff and there’s a scratch on his forehead that looks pretty raw. What Dean really sees is his posture (or lack thereof); Cas’s shoulders are slumped, his head hanging slightly, eyes completely lifeless, as if the colour has drained from them (through suspicious tear tracks on his dirt-smudged cheeks). But most of all, Cas looks tired.

“Are you-”

“Fallen? Yes, it would appear so,” Castiel answers the unfinished question, a sigh of resignation in his ever monotone voice.

“I was gonna ask if you’re _okay_ , I mean-”

“I’m fine Dean.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that, and is about to say something along the lines of “If you’re ‘fine’ than I’m the fucking Queen of England”, but Cas just looks at him blankly and asks,

“May I come in? It’s very cold out here, and quite frankly, I am exhausted.”

“Yeah I’ll bet,” Dean mutters, moving out of the way so Cas can get by him. At this point, finding out that Cas is actually a hallucination wouldn’t come as a shock- Dean should be happy- hell, he should be tickled fucking pink- but this doesn’t seem real at all. He doesn’t know what he expected the fully fallen Cas to be like- he didn’t expect anything really- but he definitely didn’t see this coming. As he follows him into the kitchen, the guy just seems completely and utterly _normal_ . And not normal as in ‘human’ normal, normal as in ‘this is exactly how Cas has always acted which is anything _but_ human’ normal. Quiet. Stiff. He walks the same and sits the same and looks at Dean the same way he has for the last however many years it’s been (five? Seems like longer) - the weird squint thing he does that only serves to remind Dean of the first time they met.

“Are you alright Dean?”

Dean clears his throat when he realises he’s been staring blankly at Cas for a good three minutes at least.

“Yeah, uh, I’m fine Cas,” he stutters. “You thirsty?”

“Very.”  

Castiel takes the glass of water without question, downing it in a matter of seconds. For the last three days he’s had nothing to eat, drinking only from streams he came across during his journey. It’s all a blur, and he wonders whether it’s because of the starvation, dehydration and exhaustion, or if the human mind simply has less capacity for remembering things like long and lonely trips through forests. He wonders why Dean isn’t happy to see him- it’s not that he was hoping for a reunion like the one in purgatory- but somehow he misses the feeling of Dean’s arms around him. That is certainly new. Cas knows he’s always cared for Dean in a way that went beyond the level of human friendship- but over the last three days, everything has been so much more intense, and the only two things Cas has been able to determine for sure are that he is completely fallen and that he is in love with Dean.

It’s quite obvious to him in retrospect- he had never acknowledged the fluttering of his heart whenever Dean looked at him, the smile on his lips that appears every time he so much as thinks of this man, the man he fought forty years through hell to reach, to save and rebuild and restore and in his own way claim, though he has never considered it an ownership. He should have realised back in purgatory, after the eternity of running from Dean just to protect him, after the ache appeared in his chest, telling him to give into the need to answer Dean’s prayers, to go to him. He should have realised, after Dean found him on the banks of the river, after Dean’s eyes lit up brighter than the very stars Castiel had once sworn to himself he could see when he looked at those eyes- when Dean held him and the ache dissipated- he should have realised then. The ache has returned in these last few days, and Castiel has found himself thinking more than once- _if I am to die, let me see him once more before I do_. But seeing Dean has done nothing- the ache still remains, a jagged-edged hole blown through his chest.

He can feel something else too, pushing at the shell of pure shock around his mind- it’s as though he hasn’t caught up with himself- he knows it’s his fault the angels fell, knows that because of him, many of his brothers and sisters are dead, the rest lost and scared and alone, without someone like Dean to turn to. And he knows that he is guilty. He simply hasn’t felt it yet.

But sitting in the kitchen of the Men of Letters bunker, with the ache in his chest growing, he suddenly thinks that maybe it isn’t just loving Dean that hurts. And though he hasn’t felt the guilt, he knows he’s about to.

“I gotta ask Cas,” Dean blurts, drawing Castiel out from the silence they’ve fallen into, “what the hell happened?”

“I don’t remember,” Cas lies automatically. His voice remains monotone and calm, just like it always has been, but he secretly hopes that Dean senses something is wrong. Because Cas is tired. Of walking, of thinking, of crying, and of keeping the truth inside. He wants to tell someone what happened, but he doesn’t think he can bear to give Dean yet another thing to blame him for.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” Dean knows full well that Cas is lying, but at this point they’re both too tired to actually sit down and talk about this. For the first time in days, with Cas here, alive and safe, Dean starts to feel like he could actually sleep (up until now he’s been ignoring how tired he really is). He takes another look at the man (he is a man now) sitting across the room and sees a look of relief pass across his face, before something like disappointment momentarily surfaces.

“Come on Cas, you need sleep,” Dean says when Cas almost nods off right then and there. Dean just heaves him to his feet, pulling him along with an arm slung lightly around his shoulder. He doesn’t resist, and Dean fleetingly wonders if he’s imagining Cas’s head resting heavily on his shoulder as they almost stumble down the hallway. Without even thinking about it, Dean opens the door to his own room, flipping on the light and turning around when Cas pauses in the doorway.

“What?”

“Dean, this is your-”

“Yes. This is my room. This is my bed. This is also where you are gonna get some rest,” Dean informs him. Castiel just stares at Dean, trying to figure out why Dean isn’t looking directly at him. Dean is trying to figure out the same thing. There’s a moment of silence before their eyes meet again, and then Dean clears his throat like he always does during times like these.

“Okay, so the bathroom’s through there, I’ll be on the couch in the den just down the hall, so yell if you need-” Dean rambles nervously, turning his back as Cas steps out of his shoes and begins to take off his top layers. He flings the trench coat over the back of the desk chair, followed by his suit jacket. Dean can’t help but think how weirdly naked Cas looks in only a white button-down, but then he shucks that too and Dean does a double take. Not because this is the first time he’s seen Cas shirtless (this is not the time for that), but because of the ugly red scars adorning Cas’s shoulder blades.

“ _Sonofa **bitch**_.” The angry red lines are thick but not that long, angling down in towards each other along the sides of Cas’s spine. They look fresh, like wounds that are still in the process of healing. And Dean shudders when he thinks of what it must have felt like when the wings that once grew there were ripped from their places.

“I’m fine Dean," Cas tells him for the second time tonight, but this time Dean snorts derisively.

“Cas, those look _brutal_ , don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s more... odd, than it is painful,” Cas answers slowly, searching for the right words while he rolls his shoulders. “My wings... they carried weight, even though they were never visible on this physical plane.” He shrugs experimentally, and he can’t hide the small wince of discomfort that flashes in his features. “Now it just feels like something is... missing.”

 “Cas, what _happened_?” Dean wants to touch Cas, to make him look up from where his eyes are glued to the floor. Cas only shifts awkwardly from side to side, evasive and quiet.

 “I don’t _remember_ , Dean,” he insists. “I left you to go and finish the trials, to save heaven, and I- I woke up on the ground just in time to see the other angels fall.” He sighs, shaking his head to dismiss the other memories he’s hiding. “I’m _tired_ Dean. I’m tired and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

 “Okay, well,” Dean slowly backs up, unsure but relenting. “G’night Cas.”

 “Goodnight Dean.”

* * *

_Falling. Must be. Cold air rushing upward, stars running together in bright lines across the sky. Plummeting._

_Doesn’t feel like falling_

_Floating. Could be. White noise so deafening it becomes silence, the lines of the stars becoming never-ending. Frozen._

_Doesn’t feel like falling._

_Pain. Most certainly. Searing and white hot, wings burning, feathers smouldering, muscles and bones ripping and tearing from their joints. Agony._

_Doesn’t feel like falling._

_Feels like hell._

_Hope it’s falling._

_So this can end._

_Blind. Can’t see the ground. Don’t know when it’s coming, but it must be. It has to be. It has to end._

_Darkness._

Castiel bolts upright, gasping for oxygen as if he’s just broken through the surface of an arctic lake. The air is thick and heavy in his lungs, and his breath comes in desperate shallow pants as he frantically struggles for air. It’s still dark, he’s still trapped, and the lines of the stars have all disappeared. For a moment, he fears he has fallen farther than the earth, farther than hell, fallen out into nowhere.

“Cas? Cas, you okay?”       

There’s a click and the room is flooded with light, reminding Castiel where he is. He flinches away from the glow, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make his eyes adjust. _Human eyes_ , he thinks; human eyes and human ears, ears that can hear a chair creaking as Dean leans forward into Castiel’s field of vision.

“You okay?” 

Dean’s voice is quiet, far-off, but grabs hold of Castiel, pulling him out of nowhere and grounding him somehow. Oddly, being grounded in this sense of the word is comforting.

“I’m fine Dean,” he confirms, staring blankly at the wall across from him, letting his vision slip in and out of focus. Human eyes are fascinating- things were so much brighter before, sharper, cleaner- but now he actually feels as though he’s seeing things for what they really are- imperfections and all.

“Were you watching me sleep?” He wonders. Dean nods.

“Annoying isn’t it?”

“Why were you-”

“I was deeply concerned for your wellbeing.” Dean intones in a way that Castiel could swear is an attempted impression of him. When Cas just stares back at Dean, he drops his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. Kept needin’ to check on Sam. His fever’s down some and his breathing sounds almost normal.”

“That doesn’t explain why you are here.”

“I was scared Cas. The way you looked when you got here, I was worried that if you went to sleep you might never wake up.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s heart beats a little faster when he sees the look on Dean’s face and recognises it as the look Dean usually has when someone he cares about is in trouble. He is someone Dean cares about.

“How long was I-”

“Well it’s almost eleven, so eighteen hours, give or take,” Dean answers before he’s asked. “You had a nightmare didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask what it was about?”

“It is not of import.”

“It was about falling wasn’t it?” It’s barely even a question.

Castiel remains silent.

“You remember more than you’re saying.” This one isn’t a question at all.

"How did you-”

“Because it was the same for me,” Dean whispers, like a thought that wasn’t meant to escape his mind.

“After I got out of the pit, after you-” Dean stops when he isn’t sure if talking about Cas in all of his angelic glory is really a good idea right now. “I thought that if I pretended it hadn’t happened, if I didn’t tell anyone, then it would never have to be real. But the memories of hell- they’re memories I still haven’t really escaped. I mean the nightmares are scarce now, but- what I did, I did, and I couldn’t ignore it for long.”

_What I did. Oh Dean, what I did. What I did was far worse than anything you might have done in hell... what I did._

“Earth to Cas, come in Cas.” Dean waves his hand in front of the fallen angel’s face, summoning his attention back to here and now, though part of his mind stays on the track of his horrible betrayal. Dean tries to smile, but his half-hearted grin falls short of bringing any comfort.

“Are you gonna be able to get back to sleep?”        

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. You’re probably starving.” Dean softens the blow with ‘probably’, but the fact is that Castiel’s stomach is about to collapse in on itself. He nods and moves to get out of bed, noticing that there are what appear to be clothes piled up at his feet.

“Oh, those are for you,” Dean explains when he notices Cas eyeing the old band t-shirt and well worn jeans. “You can’t keep wearing the holy tax accountant getup, it’s trashed. These are- they’re mine, I figure they should fit you...”

“Dean, I- thank-you.” Castiel looks up at Dean with what is more gratitude than the elder Winchester should be able to handle- but somehow it feels... nice. Cas just being here is nice.

“No chick flick moments dude,” Dean reminds him more out of habit than anything, knowing that the ship of ‘no chick flick moments with Cas’ has way beyond long since sailed. “Just get dressed and come out to the kitchen, I’ll cook you something.”

“I think it is best if I take a shower first.” Cas interjects.

Dean hasn’t thought of that.

“Oh! Right, yeah probably.” He nervously scratches the back of his neck. His eyes follow Cas’ feet as they pad across the floor towards him. He’s about to man up and ask the guy if he needs help, but Cas beats him to it.

“I am aware of how to use a shower, Dean.” If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear Cas is being condescending. Dean is just thankful that for all his new humanness, the guy still hasn’t lost his uncannily timed ability to read minds.

“During my time as Emmanuel, I did behave like an average human being.”

 _Okay, that was definitely condescension._ Dean is simultaneously relieved yet admittedly a little too irked that he won’t be the one who gets to teach Cas how a shower works.

“Okay, um, great.” He nods, trying to ignore the fleeting lightness in Cas’ gaze as it sweeps over him. “Shower first, and then I’m making hamburgers.”

* * *

 As it turns out, Castiel really doesn’t like hamburgers.

That could be because he’s almost too hungry to really keep anything down. It could also be from his last (over)exposure to beef, Dean points out. But Castiel believes that it is most likely because he is very literally his own person now, with no other parties inhabiting his mind and influencing his body’s desires.

“So Jimmy... is he... you know...”

“Gone? Yes,” Castiel confirms, starting on his third chicken sandwich (it’s the best Dean can do short of the beef Cas won’t touch).

“His soul ascended to heaven,” he adds a moment later, like an afterthought. “Some time ago.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, some time ago? When was this?” Dean inquires, like a mom just finding out about her son’s failed math test from last month.

“When I absorbed the souls from Purgatory.” Cas says ‘purgatory’ with great hesitation, like he thinks Dean will still be mad at him for that whole fiasco. “That entire period in time is still somewhat lost from my memory, but when I expelled the souls from myself and through the portal, Jimmy’s soul left my vessel as well.”

“But he went to heaven, not to limbo?”

“A human soul destined for heaven cannot easily be taken from its path- once it is free of its body-” Cas looks a Dean, who is still clearly bewildered.

“You and I were physically sent to Purgatory because of our approximation to the explosion of Richard Roman. Our physical forms were too close to his non physical form -his ‘soul’- so we were pulled in with him. No human soul can enter Purgatory on its own- outside of a vessel- from earth. The mass exodus of souls from my body must have also expelled Jimmy’s soul from this vessel. It then followed its natural course to heaven.”

“Huh,” is Dean’s eloquent retort. “So you’re completely alone in there?” He points to Cas’ head.

“Completely. But as I was still in possession of my grace-” Castiel momentarily falters- the words are stinging barbs coming from his mouth- but he pushes through the worst of his pain and continues- “I barely noticed the change. The second time I entered Jimmy Novak’s body, I buried his consciousness so as to spare him the pain of being a vessel- when he left, it was merely as though my grace had more space to expand and exist. But now-” another moment of silence- “I fear that I have too much room.”

Dean is totally at a loss for words. It’s not as though Cas has really dropped a bombshell or anything- his explanation makes relative sense and all- but just sitting here with Cas, talking about something like the fact that Cas doesn’t have a vessel anymore, only a body- it’s something Dean never thought they’d have to talk about. Ever. They’re getting dangerously close to talking about their feelings, and Dean isn’t even a little scared. Even if their last ‘let’s talk’ moment ended with Cas confessing some pretty heavy stuff- right now, Dean wants to hear it. All of it.

Truth is, Dean is in love with Cas. He’s known it for a long time. When Cas crashed through those barn doors in Pontiac Illinois, walked past all those sigils and stared Dean down like no one ever had before or since, Dean knew things would never be the same. In retrospect, he thinks that it was probably soon after that whole catastrophe at the whorehouse-brothel, whatever- that Dean was able to qualify his feelings for the guy he owed his life to. Of course once he’d figured it out, he denied it like he did with anything meaningful (outside of caring about Sam- that he never denied). But by the time Cas had allied with Crowley, when Dean realised how much that betrayal had truly hurt him- he’d stopped lying to himself. Lying to everyone else, well that was something he kept on doing (although he could swear sometimes by the looks Sam gave him, it was like he somehow knew). So when Purgatory happened, Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care if every monster in existence knew just what the angel meant to him. Obvious. To everyone but Cas.

“You should check on Sam, it’s been over ten minutes since you last did so.” Cas pipes up a moment later. And Dean figures out that he may be ready to listen, but Cas isn’t ready to talk. Which is totally understandable, but still succeeds in making Dean begin to worry.

“Yeah, yeah okay.” Dean slides from his chair, almost putting a reassuring hand on Cas’s shoulder, because that’s what he does, because he’s helpless and a little scared to do anything else. Cas doesn’t want to talk, but Dean knows- he can be an idiot but he’s not stupid. He’s pretty much figured out what happened, what Cas isn’t saying. He knows what Cas has done, or rather what Cas _thinks_ he’s done. And he also knows that Cas’s fight or flight response should have kicked in by now- and flight is the usual choice when Cas feels guilty. So when Dean checks on Sammy- whose fever has broken, who might actually be okay, Dean feels a lot better about leaving Sam alone for longer than ten minutes, just so he can sit with Cas. Not talk. Not until he’s ready.

But when he gets to the kitchen, Cas isn’t there.

Dean finds him back in bed, on his side, facing away from Dean, curled in on himself, his bare shoulders rising and falling, skin stretching across his back, those goddamn scars somehow looking nastier than they did yesterday. And Dean hopes that’s not a sign of how well Cas is healing _emotionally_ , because while there’s nothing Dean wants to do more than fix Cas in every way possible, he doesn’t know if he can. But for now, he _can_ let him rest. So he retreats to his couch, thinking (optimistically for once) that he’ll be able to sleep now too- as soon as he checks on Sammy again.

Castiel lays awake, waiting until Dean is gone, waiting until all the lights are out and there’s no more shuffling of feet- until the coast is clear. He is nothing if not patient, because he knows that he has to go, and he can’t let Dean know about it. Because the guilt is eating him alive. He has to do something to ease this pain, and if that means going back out there to where the others of his kind are no doubt hunting him- fine. But Dean can never know. So Castiel waits, he waits and he tries to convince himself that leaving like this is best- for him, for Dean- for both of them.

* * *

“Goin’ somewhere?” Dean asks, a half-full glass in his hand, feet propped up on the table. Turns out he was wrong about being able to sleep.

For a moment, Castiel considers lying. Of course, explaining why he’s awake at three A.M. would be easy enough; but having an excuse for being up at three A.M., fully clothed and headed for the door might be a little more difficult. And then there’s the fact that he’s lied to Dean before- and it hasn’t served him well thus far. So Cas reverts to a stoicism and emotionless honesty that would have put his former angel-of-the-lord self to shame.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I am leaving.”

“Cas-”

“I can’t stay, Dean,” he interrupts firmly. “You know that as well as I.”

“No Cas, I _don’t_ know that,” Dean answers smoothly, downing the rest of his drink and getting slowly to his feet. “Actually, I know the opposite. You can stay, and you will.”

“Dean, I can’t,” Cas says again. He’s using every single ounce of willpower he has left to force everything he’s feeling down into himself, deep as it can go, because if he allows even the smallest crack to form in this mask that he’s donned, he fears that Dean will see right through him. And that would be the end of it. Because if Dean finds out anything about the way he really feels, Cas won’t even get to hold onto the memory of a Dean that isn’t completely afraid of and repulsed by him. And going out thinking that Dean still cares at all is one consolation that Castiel will allow himself.  

“Why, Cas?” Dean asks, looking nowhere near as hurt as he feels. Dean can tell he’s about to lose Cas once again- he’s sand slipping through Dean’s fingers, glass that’s too fragile to hold onto, and he’s afraid Cas will break. _And this_ , he thinks, _is the worst way to lose someone_ \- when they leave you of their own free will. When they decide that there’s somewhere else they should be, other than with you, and you can’t do anything to convince them otherwise. Dean never liked being helpless, but this- some part of him knows that he can’t give up, because if Cas leaves now, Dean is afraid it’ll be the last time he’ll ever see him.

Those insanely blue eyes will never again look at him in the way that only Cas’s eyes can; with unbelievable understanding yet such profound bewilderment. That gaze will never again go right through him, right into whatever marred semblance of a soul Dean has left. Cas will never again tilt his head like a confused puppy, brow furrowed in puzzlement because he ‘doesn’t understand that reference’. Dean will never hear that gravely voice again, never hear his name pass through those lips in a tone of impatience, affection or even love (though only in Dean’s dreams has that voice ever spoken to him in such a way).

But most of all, Dean will never get to explain to Cas exactly what he meant (and how much he meant it) when he said “I need you”.    

“Why?” Dean asks again.

"I don’t belong here.”

“Damnit Cas, how many times are you gonna make me say it?” Dean’s pacing almost frantically at this, ready to pull his hair out or yell at the top of his lungs (possibly both).

“I need you.”

“ ** _WHY?!_** ” Cas screams, and Dean very nearly jumps right out of his skin. What should freak him out is that Cas of all people, the stone-faced, straight-laced, never-let-them-see-you-cry warrior of God is showing such an extreme display of emotion. Sure, Cas has yelled before, but this proverbial explosion is a far cry from righteous anger. What scares Dean more than anything though is the pain, real and deep and terrifying, burning in those cosmic blue eyes. Pain and shame, shame and guilt, guilt and something else Dean can’t quite define (or is afraid to). He scrambles blankly for words but comes up empty, unable to do anything but watch Cas fall apart.

“Why do you need _me_? What good am I to you? In case it’s escaped your observation, Dean, I am human; entirely so. There is nothing I can do that can’t be done by anyone else. I’m weak now, I’m useless- I can’t heal, I can’t fight, I can’t fly- I can’t even fly!” There is an unmistakable crack in Cas’s voice at this, and it’s all he can do not to burst into tears right then and there. He’s completely and utterly overwhelmed. His mask of calm has cracked and shattered and given way to despair and grief all in one moment, and all the things he’s been trying not to feel since he fell pour out of him in a torrent of every negative emotion imaginable. Cas can see the fear on Dean’s face as the man watches him unleash the most basic part of being human. Somewhere in the back of Castiel’s mind, he knows he should be worried about waking up Sam, but all he can focus on is trying not to let the next words he says be said at all.

“And how is it that you could _possibly_ need me here or even _want_ me here after all I’ve done?! I’ve betrayed you, my brothers and sisters, Heaven and God himself. I’ve tried to do penance, but how can I? How can I ever atone for all of my sins?” He pauses only to take a breath, lungs begging for air they aren’t yet accustomed to needing.

“Hester was right. The moment I laid a hand on you in hell, I was lost.”

He means this as an accusation. It’s no longer an option to let himself believe that Dean still cares. He now wants desperately to blame Dean for something that could never be his fault. He has to drive Dean away so he can go, get away from those that only serve to remind him of his greatest failures. He has to make Dean hate him. Because maybe if Dean hates Castiel, he’ll let him go.

“I know what you’re trying to do Cas. I did the same thing to you and Sam and Bobby back when I almost said yes to Michael, back when I was just so desperate for it all to be over. I wanted you to think you didn’t need me, because I felt like I’d failed you, and somehow it would be easier to deal with if I could just make you let me go.” Dean steps forward, hands raised in the air like he’s trying to talk Cas down from a ledge. And he is.

“But Cas, you will _never_ convince me that I don’t need you.”

For a moment, there’s silence. For a moment they simply stare at each other, and Dean prays to whatever the hell is out there that this is over. But he knows this silence; and this silence isn’t definitive. It’s the silence right before the screaming; the calm before the storm. So Dean prays, but he doesn’t hold his breath.

“No Dean. I’m leaving. I have to.”

“Then tell me this, Cas. If you’re so hell-bent on leaving, why did you even come back in the first place?”

“To say goodbye, I suppose. Before…”

“Before what?”

"I once told you that if I ever had to see the damage I’d done, the ruin I’d caused in Heaven, that I was afraid I might kill myself.”

Before Castiel’s newly human mind can even process his own next thought, he’s physically aware of pressure against his back from the wall he’s been backed into, pressure against the sides of his head from where Dean’s hands have come to hold his face, and pressure on his mouth from where Dean’s lips are covering his. And then pressure forms in his chest, something behind his ribs jumping wildly into his throat, heart pounding out of control, beating loudly in his ears, because he’s just realised that _Dean Winchester is kissing him_. And the way Dean kisses is desperate- it’s thorough and it’s full and it’s whiskey-flavoured. It’s nothing and everything like Castiel ever thought kissing Dean could be.

And Dean- Dean is just letting himself feel, and it’s something that he immediately knows is maybe stupid, probably irrational and damn well near certifiable- but he’ll go back to hell before he lets anything happen to Cas. And this kiss is the only thing he can do to show Cas that he is not letting him go- not now, not ever- and that this thing between them, this ‘profound bond’ or whatever the fuck you want to call it- it’s real, and it’s not something Dean is ever going to give up on. But as he’s trying his damndest to show Cas this, he’s learning it himself. His habitual fear of needing Cas is suddenly dwarfed by the fear of losing him, and that fear is the only reason Dean needs to do something crazy (and God knows Dean’s done some pretty crazy things). And even though this should be totally insane, kissing Cas is somehow not crazy at all. It’s a last ditch effort, sure, but it’s _right_ . And even though this is not how Dean imagined it happening (and he’s imagined it a lot of ways) he finds that he has no hesitation- just a feeling of _God **DAMN** I should have done this ages ago_.

When the kiss breaks, both of them are left on the other side of the line neither of them ever have the courage to cross, a line they have both known (but never admitted) was even there.

Dean’s hands remain on Cas’s face, holding him there, while Castiel’s fingers have come to grip the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him closer. He can feel their chests heaving with every harried breath, feel Dean’s eye trying to catch his. When he finally meets that immeasurably deep gaze, he sees the purest form of fear he’s ever witnessed- is Dean afraid?

“Dean, I-”

“No, listen Cas you dumb sonofabitch. Don’t you ever say anything like that again, ever, you-” what started out as an order has devolved into a plea, “I don’t care what you did- I am not losing you. You don’t know, what it would do to me. Losing you. What it _has_ done to me. I’ve lost you too many times, and I can’t- I can’t _lose you_ , not _again_.” Dean’s voice is quick, his words bleeding together at the edges, but Castiel catches every one of them, awestruck.

“You, Cas. Not your grace, not your angel mojo- _you_. I seriously couldn’t care less if you can smite demons or heal broken bones, or even if you made the angels fall yourself. You _saved me_ Cas, even when I was the last person on earth or in hell who deserved it. And you’ve been saving me ever since. So lemme save your ass for once, alright?”     

And Cas breaks down.

“It’s all my fault Dean. The trials weren’t trials at all, they were parts of a spell- Naomi was right, and I didn’t listen because of my pride- I helped Metatron destroy us, destroy my family. The last part of the spell was my grace. He took my grace and used it to cast the angels from heaven. I betrayed them all. I’m repulsive, I’m a traitor- I’m _worthless_.” Cas sobs into Dean’s shirt, soaking the thin fabric with tears, very real, very human tears. And Dean just pulls him in, placing a hand on the back of his head and letting him weep. So for what seems like forever, Cas cries, and Dean just holds onto him like he’s the most precious thing in this world. Which he is.

“I just can’t do this anymore Dean.” Cas finally sighs.

“I said it once and I’ll say it again.” Dean counters, pulling Cas’s face up so as to make their eyes meet again. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care who you’ve hurt. I am not letting you go. Not now, not _ever_. Don’t go, I’m begging you here. I need you to stay, Cas, please. I need you.” _Cas doesn’t know why_ , Dean remembers. “I need you because-” _deep breath, man up, you can do it Winchester-_

“I love you, Cas.”

And just like that, Cas surges forward and kisses him- it’s sloppy and it’s quick and it’s a little bit inexperienced- but it’s fucking perfect and Dean just _knows_. There isn’t another word spoken- Cas doesn’t say ‘I love you too’ but in that moment Dean just _knows_. Because now Cas _won’t_ let go. He flings his arms around Dean’s shoulders and holds on for all he’s worth. He closes his eyes as the last tears he has left in him fall, and when Dean kisses him back he swears he could float away if not for Dean’s hands, warm and reassuring as they press into the small of his back, slowly learning the curve of his spine. Dean revels at the feeling of Cas’s lips on his- the softness of them despite how chapped they look- the roughness of Cas’s unshaven skin where it brushes against his cheek- the taste of tears and chicken sandwiches.

Castiel has thrown caution to the wind, something he never in a thousand years thought he was capable of doing, but now wonders why he has waited so long to do. He pushes his mouth against Dean’s in a plea- ‘ _kiss me’_ ; a question- ‘ _is this real?’_ -a desperate attempt to bring him impossibly close. And Dean, to Castiel’s utter relief responds in kind, his lips silently replying _yes, yes, yes_. They kiss each other like they’re addicted to it, like they’re made for it, like it’s all they were ever meant to do. And neither of them wants to stop, even when they need to breathe, even when their lungs almost explode. For a split second they pull back for air, and when Dean meets Cas’s eyes he swears he can see a lightning storm, and Castiel can once again find stars in the way Dean looks at him.

And then Cas licks his lips like he’s scared to forget Dean’s taste and Dean just snaps. He pushes the ex-angel back into the wall with more force than is (probably) required (though he really can’t bring himself to mind). And Castiel lets him, suddenly overwhelmed by his desire to be with Dean in every way possible. This roughness is a part of Dean he has always known was there but has never been on the receiving end of. He expects another kiss, but gasps all the same when he feels hot breath ghosting over his throat. His head falls back and hits the wall with a dull thud as Dean’s mouth descends on his neck. He digs his fingers into the hunter’s shoulders, exactly where he once marked him, and it occurs to him that he is now the one being marked; his clearest thought in this moment is _I could always belong to him_.After that his thoughts become blurred as Dean continues to nip and suck at his skin and it’s as though every part of him is on fire- and it feels _good_.

Their mouths meet again, and this time Dean eases his tongue into the exchange, coaxing Cas to do the same. And fuck the guy’s a fast learner, and before Dean knows it, this is the best kiss he’s ever had. He kneads his thumbs into the hipbones that stick out of borrowed jeans and remembers how he’s been trying not to notice that _damn_ , Cas looks good in his clothes. There’s a familiar heat building in his stomach and rippling across his skin. He lines up their bodies and pulls them together and sure enough he feels the same heat coming off of Cas. And that should freak him out a little if not a lot, but all it does is make him want more. And judging by the way a certain someone’s fingers are pulling through his hair, he’s not the only one.

“ _Dean-_ ” the need for oxygen has once again become overwhelming, and Castiel is acutely aware of how very pinned he is, as well as how very aroused he is by it. And when Dean goes back to leaving marks on Cas’s collarbone, the most wrecked groan resonates in the back of his throat and Dean can’t help but smile.

“Yeah Cas?”

“ _I want you_.”         

You’ve got me.”

“Can we-” Castiel stops at that, wondering what he was going to say, how he was going to say it; his mind sorts through all the common ways of asking someone this- having sex doesn’t sound right to him, but neither does making love, because the love is already there. Thankfully though, some things don’t need to be spoken.

“We can, but only if you’re sure.” Dean pulls back for a second, to check for doubt, but for once, Castiel can say for certain that there is none.

“I’m sure.”

And that’s the best thing Dean’s ever heard.

* * *

“It’s almost sunrise.”

Castiel has been keeping track. And even though they’re in a room with no windows, he remembers the time that the sun comes over the horizon, just like he will always remember this as the time he finally stopped running. Dean is holding Cas close to him, his arm around the near sleeping man, one hand splayed across his chest while the other gingerly touches the scars that have suddenly and miraculously begun to show signs of healing.

“We should go outside and watch it.”

“Nuh-uh. That would require getting out of this bed.” Dean replaces his fingertips with his mouth, leaving butterfly kisses across the place where wings used to be. “It would also mean putting clothes on.” Castiel can feel the sly grin against his back, and then he’s being pulled even closer, cradled against Dean with a gentle strength that he recognises as the same gentle strength Dean has always held him with.

“Dean, you’re holding me too tight.” He mutters a while later.

“Sorry angel.” The word is said without a second thought, but upon realising what he’s just said, Dean flinches and pulls back, every muscle in his body tensing as he waits for his best friend to move away from him.

“Do you really still see me as an angel Dean?” He wonders meekly.

“I- yeah, I do Cas. It’s freakin’ cheesy, but I guess I’ve almost always thought of you as my angel, you know? And now-” Castiel shivers as another kiss is placed over each of his shoulder blades- “wings or not, you really are mine. And as for the angel part, you’re still you.”

Castiel sighs happily and settles back into Dean’s embrace, and they lapse in to a comfortable if not fleeting silence. Just as sleep is overtaking Dean for the first time in almost four days, Cas’s voice, barely louder than a whisper, pulls him back.

“She was wrong.”

“Hmm? Who was what?” Dean mumbles sleepily.

“Hester.” Castiel answers. “When I first laid a hand on you in hell, I wasn’t lost.” He reaches up to where Dean’s hand is still pressed to his chest, interlacing their fingers.

“I was found.”

**Author's Note:**

> [come visit me on tumblr!](http://www.eoarwen.tumblr.com)


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